NOT WITH A BANG, BUT A WHIMPER

Here are things that are more fun to do than attend
the Delaware General Assembly as it shuts down for the
year on June 30.

--Voice mail hell, where you never, ever reach a
human being.

--Ground Hog Day, an endless loop of banalities like
in the movie.

The slow throes of Legislative Hall at the end of the
session are the equivalent of watching a checkbook being
balanced -- for 10 or 12 hours.

The lawmakers arrive in Dover in late afternoon with
a must list of adopting a budget, a bond bill for
construction projects and a grants-in-aid package for
fire companies, senior centers and non-profits, the
three measures collectively worth billions of dollars,
to keep the state government functioning for another
year.

This has all the dramatic tension of Bazooka bubble
gum comics, but the legislators never seem to manage it
before the sun comes up.

Year in and year out, the June 30 script is the same.
State Sen. Colin Bonini, a Dover Republican, will
complain about state spending. The lobbyists will go
home before everybody else because they have the General
Assembly sewn up.

For this Caesar Rodney rode to Philadelphia?

When the final night closes out a two-year term, as
this one did for the 144th General Assembly, it is also
a time for saying good-bye to the people marking their
last June 30.

There are people who know they will not be in office
for another one. The governor. Steve Amick and John
Still, Republicans retiring after two decades in the
state Senate. Ben Ewing, a Republican nursing cancer as
he leaves after a similar tenure in the state House of
Representatives.

Then there are people who might be spending their
last June 30 in Dover, although they prefer not.

People like John Carney, the Democratic lieutenant
governor running for governor. Matt Denn, the Democratic
insurance commissioner, and Charlie Copeland, the Senate
Republican minority leader, both wanting to be
lieutenant governor. Bethany Hall-Long, a Democratic
state representative shooting for the Senate. John
Brady, a House attorney who is the Republican candidate
for insurance commissioner.

"There are also people who aren't coming back, but
they don't know it," quipped Bob Gilligan, the
Democratic state representative who is the minority
leader.

Gilligan has a vested interest. The Democrats are
trying to net at least two seats from the other side of
the aisle, swinging control of the House their way and
putting Gilligan in line to be the speaker.

On this June 30, however, the only departures the
legislature could deal with were the known knowns, as
former Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld might say.

The General Assembly can be a callous place, but
everyone seems to have a soft spot for "Gentle Ben"
Ewing, a mellow 77-year-old Sussex Countian who used to
be the lieutenant colonel of the state police. Ewing
announced just two weeks ago he would not be back, and
it is still sinking in.

There was an outpouring of affection for him when he
introduced to the House a woman, who is a family friend,
as his sweetheart.

"I always thought I was your sweetheart," teased
state Rep. Deborah Hudson, a fellow Republican. Across
the aisle on the Democratic side of the chamber, state
Rep. Helene Keeley said she thought she was Ewing's
sweetheart and Hall-Long said she thought she was, too.

Steve Amick came in for an unusual tribute. Shortly
after three this morning, both houses approved an
86-page bill on which Amick had toiled for eight years
to craft a law governing condominiums, time shares and
cooperatives.

Eight years. It was a labor of love for Amick,
at 61 a mostly-retired real estate lawyer from Newark.
Although he was showered with accolades -- "statesman,"
"gentleman," "scholar" -- it was the passage of the bill
that seemed to overwhelm him.

John Still was praised for his diligent work on the
state finances in this most difficult of years, as
revenues plummeted and costs rose. A 55-year-old
insurance broker from Dover, he accepted an assignment
to "Big Head," an unofficial council of legislative
leaders who meet with administration officials on
revenue and spending.

Big Head meets privately, and the origin of the name
is almost as closely held. Almost.

Russ Larson, the controller general in charge of the
legislature's fiscal arm, recently told the tale in
e-mail to Delaware Grapevine. "The reference to Big Head
stems from a comment made by a member of my staff many
years ago," he said.

It seems that several people from Larson's office
were racing to one of those leadership sessions when
someone said it reminded him of a Star Trek episode
about Talosians, a race with large heads shaped
something like lightbulbs, overdeveloped mental capacity
and atrophying bodies.

After the meeting, Larson worked up a spread sheet in
his office but hesitated as he decided to save it. "I
couldn't come up with an appropriate file name. My staff
guy said, why not Big Head? It ended up being printed on
the footer of the spread sheet. And history was made."